Unholy Affairs
by Abstract Art
Summary: The Undertaker is intrigued by a new female wrestler and seeks to make an alliance with her, but she is one to play hard-to-get. Will he successfully capture her or will he face the challenge of a lifetime. Featuring the Unholy Alliance.  SL, SC
1. Chapter 1

Raw was alive with noise and excitement as the beautiful, world-renowned women wrestler, Chyna made her way into the ring where her opponent, Road Dogg waited patiently for her. It was no question about it that this would be one hell of a match between the humorous, neon green-loving challenger and the world's most dangerous women.

She kept a heavy gaze on him as she paced side to side, noticing a wide, taunting grin on his face as he invited her with his own gaze. The crowd roared furiously all around them; some chanting the name of Chyna while others chanted for the Road Dogg. Even he knew that this women was like an angry bull after having been in an organization with her. Pretty soon the bells rang for the match to start and both fighters immediately sprang into action.

Chyna was the first to strike, delivering a fatal clothesline to Road Dogg's throat and knocking him onto his back. He immediately rose and punched her in the gut, elbowing her in the back when she bent forward. She quickly absorbed the pain and moved around him, wrapping her arms around him and dropping him onto her leg to shatter his tailbone. He bounced for a moment and then came at her with a clothesline which she dodged and countered with a sidekick. Head snapping sideways, he fell to the floor and Chyna leg-dropped him hard, nearly knocking the wind right out of him. She went for the pin, but Road Dogg kicked out after two counts. She was a little angered and decided to unleash her full fury. Picking him up, she dropped him with a DDT and while he was trying to recover, she climbed to the top rope and slammed her weight down on him like a meteor.

Now she was sure she had him. It had been a rather short and simple match. She covered him with her body again and the referee began to count. _At last, _she thought. _His world championship title is about to be mine._ Her confidence grew as she listened to the cheering audience and the countdown, but just as the referee was about to hit the third count, the lights blacked out suddenly. The smirk that had been on her face a minute ago was now a gaping hole as she sat upright and looked about, confused in the darkness. The inky blackness was so thick she could hardly see past her own hand and the audience around her was roaring madly. She knew only one person who could make the arena this dark, and that was the Undertaker himself, but for some reason, she couldn't hear his entrance theme. For some reason, nothing was happening. Road Dogg didn't even bother to recover. If this really was an appearance from the Deadman, he knew it would be best to stay down. But what if he was the target?

Chyna rose to her feet and got into a solid stance, preparing herself for the encounter. "Come on!" She shouted boldly into the darkness. "Come and get me, Deadman!" She was lucky to have been such a strong, courageous woman or she probably would have left the ring like any other punk on the roster. But according to her, there was no backing down from a fight. Never. "Get your ass in this ring! I'm not scared of you!" And a split second after the words left her mouth, the lights flashed back on and her expression of fury instantly changed. She stared straight ahead, saw nothing but a million cameras flashing and signs waving all about the standing audience. But to her surprise, there was no Undertaker. In fact, there was no one in the ring besides herself and Road Dogg. Atleast...that was what she thought...

She noticed that Road Dogg was sitting upright and staring past her with a look of confusion, his eyes slightly widened. She frowned at him and then slowly began turning her head, almost not wanting to see what was behind her. And out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a dark figure. Motionless as a statue, standing about her same height. A bit alarmed, Chyna made a violent whirl and came face to face with what her opponent was staring at. And he had every right to stare. It was most definitely not the Undertaker. In fact, it was quite inferior compared to the Undertaker, but when Chyna beheld this being, she could easily call it something straight out of hell.

A pair of icy blue eyes stared right back at Chyna and she realized that it was a woman she had never seen before. Slender with highly-noticeable curves and an expressionless, yet beautiful face that was framed by a curtain of waist-length, midnight black hair, she stood completely still with her arms by her sides and her feet solidly planted. She was dressed in a black victorian corset with dark purple laces that exposed a portion of her midsection and bust line, skin-tight leather bottoms with a large, dark purple pentagram embedded on both outer seams, tucked into a pair of laced platform boots. A very peculiar neclace hung from around her neck, a silver pyramid with a large red eye in the center. Red like her plush lips that went perfectly with her black eye shadow and pale foundation. This woman's arcane appearance truly molded into a beauty Chyna had never before seen. And for the first time in several weeks, she was actually a bit unnerved by this woman and her ice cold stare.

Chyna gulped, a bit lost; a bit taken aback. And at the first sign of fear, the woman attacked full force. Before Chyna could even think to react, the woman performed one of the swiftest spin-kicks anyone had ever seen and nearly shattered her face with the bottom of her boot. The last thing Chyna saw was a bright, white light flash in her eyes and then she collapsed backwards, now engulfed in pitch blackness. Unlike the darkness she'd seen earlier, this blackness was complete unconsciousness. She was out cold. Taken down quicker than she'd ever been taken down before in her career.

Utterly astonished, Road Dogg's mouth fell agape at what he had just seen and he began to scoot away. The woman's icy blue eyes instantly fell on him and it he could have sworn he nearly shit his pants. She stepped slowly toward him, the coldness of her expression seeming to right doom upon his soul. The way she moved was like a still shadow, silent and smooth as a ghostly wind. He had no idea who this woman was but something was telling him that he was in grave danger. And that something was right. The woman planted her knee-high laced boot down on his throat in order to keep him still. He wriggled beneath her and gripped her ankle, but before she could even attempt to pry her off, she stomped with almost all her effort. Excruciating pain instantly shot up his throat as he rolled over and released a choked cough. It felt like his windpipe had been damn near shattered.

The crowd roared negatively at this unknown woman. But she simply ignored the feedback and stepped away from her second victim of attack, staring down at his writhing body, inwardly scoffing at how pathetic he was. _It begins now, _were the words that echoed in her mind before she eventually turned to leave. She flexibly slid beneath the bottom rope, the motion so feline and smooth it made a few eyes widen. Once outside the ring, she didn't even bother with the hair that veiled her face, simply carried on up the ramp as if none of what had happened mattered to her. And it didn't. She neither looked back nor thought twice about what she had done. Her mission for the night had been accomplished whether the crowd liked it or not. _Hell is waiting for them._

...

"So who was that exactly?" Chyna said loudly, her voice edged with anger. She was sitting on a couch in her locker room, holding an ice pack to her temple.

Her friend Hunter Hearst Helmsley sat across from her with his hand covering hers, making sure the ice pack was doing its job. "No one knows accept McMahon, Chyna." He answered, shrugging. "But that doesn't matter. Your health is more important."

"No." Chyna seemed to cut the air with her dagger-sharp tone. "What's more important is finding out who that woman is and kicking her ass for what she did to me out there. I coulda had that title, Hunter!"

"I know. I know." Hunter sighed, holding his hand up slightly. "But, please, just calm down for now. Your anger isn't making your head feel any better."

Chyna winced at a slight twinge of pain that pulsed through her skull. "Damn. That bitch sure can deliver a kick. I coulda sworn my damn nose flew off my face."

Hunter looked over her facial features. Nothing was particularly damaged, only a small gash streaked across her forehead right above her left eye. They put gauge on it, but the blood was still seeping through like a well. "I saw." He agreed, wishing he hadn't when he saw the look Chyna gave him. "And what up with that victorian vampire look?"

"She looks like a goddamn walking corpse."

"Yeah, but a hot walking corpse." Hunter chuckled with that statement, but was silenced when Chyna reached out and slapped him upside the head with her massive hand. "Ow, girl" He whined. "What sensible heterosexual male wouldn't agree with me?"

"There are SEVERAL in this business who wouldn't. Believe me."

Hunter twisted his face. "Feeling any better?" He quickly changed the subject.

Chyna winced again. "Just a bit dizzy. I'm pretty sure my brain slammed into every part of my skull. Probably still rattling like a salt-shaker."

"You should be just fine and ready to kick some more ass soon, Chyna. Hopefully. In the mean time, I'm gonna go get us some drinks. What would you like?"

"Steel me a Brewski from Stone Cold Steve Austin. And don't take forever. I'm fucking thirsty as hell after that ass-whoopin out there."

Hunter's eyes widened. "He'll kick my ass for taking one of those things. You know him."

"Fine." Chyna grumbled, standing to her feet. "I'll just get it myself since you're too much of a–"

"No." Hunter quickly stood and stopped her. "Alright. I'll get it, but just stay here and recover, okay? No leaving this room."

Chyna stared at him for a moment, then slowly sat back down, keeping her eyes on him. After making sure she wouldn't move, Hunter left the room and ventured down the hall. "So demanding." He muttered as he read the names on the passing doors. "Austin. Where's Austin?" Soon he found his destination at the very end of the hallway and stopped. He leaned toward the door in order to hear any sounds from the other side. When he heard none, he gripped the knob and turned, slowly pushing the door open. Luckily, the Texas Rattlesnake was nowhere in sight, so he could easily slip in and slip out unnoticed.

He looked up and down the hall before bolting into the room. The six-pack was on a card table in the back of the room. He quickly made his way toward it and took two cans, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was snooping by the room. Then turned and left the room as quick as possible. On the way out, he turned to close the door, and the very second it shut, a strange tingly feeling came over him. His shoulders tensed as he got that 'someone-is-watching-me feeling and the hairs on the back of his neck stood. For a moment, he stood frozen, and then he slowly turned.

It was most unexpected that he had met a pair of icy blue eyes planted into a face so expressionless it was practically corpse-like. He became rooted in place by a piercing stare. It was her. And although she was a bit shorter than himself, she was the most intimidating woman he had ever seen. More intimidating than Chyna. He swallowed hard. "Uh, h-hi." He stammered, trying to play it off with a small chuckle, but even the chuckle came out nervously.

The woman said nothing, only continued to stare. She was standing erect before him, still as a stature. Her eyes didn't even blink.

"I don't think we've met before." Hunter continued. "But I gotta warn you. You messed with the wrong woman here on Raw so I would advise you to watch your back."

Still no response.

"Hello?" Hunter raised his eyebrows and waved his hand infront of her face. "Can you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?"

In an almost blinding movement, the woman caught Hunter's wrist and her grip was so powerful he couldn't break it. She twisted it outward and yanked, causing him to bend slightly and turn, his arm now pinned behind his back. "Ow. Okay, okay!" He winced as pain seared through his shoulder. "I'm just warning you. Geez."

The woman reached around him and snatched one of the cans of Brewski, then turned him loose and walked off. Hunter released a breath of relief as his arm returned to a normal position. He massaged his shoulder as he watched her leave, her feet silent upon the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

Heavy feet thudded against the hard tiled floor at a medium-paced rhythm. Passersby were staring, intimidated, making way for the hulking black mass moving through the halls like a rolling storm cloud. An interviewer speaking with The Rock was bumped by a massive shoulder and knocked clean to the floor.

"Hey, watch it!" Rang an angry response from The Rock.

A growl came in response, but the mass never turned around, only continued about his way. He turned a corner, his wavy waterfall of jetblack hair bustling behind him, swaying against his well-defined back and broad shoulders. Those heavy, booted feet trod all the way to the end of the hallway where they found a door with a sign that read: THE UNDERTAKER. A massive hand rose and slammed against the door, causing it to swing open and strike the wall with a loud bang. "Show!" Echoed the irate, deep voice of the Undertaker.

Inside the locker room, the Big Show was sitting on a couch in front of a television. He jumped at the sound of his mentor's booming voice. "Shit, man. You scared the hell outta me!"

The Undertaker arched an eyebrow as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. For a split second, the Big Show looked transfixed on whatever was being displayed on the television screen. "I get that a lot." He replied darkly. "Why aren't you in your own locker room?"

"Your TV is better. Mine has static like a mother fucker."

Taker noticed the bottle of Texas Whiskey in his hand as he approached him. "That's funny." He muttered.

"What? Me drinking?"

"No. You told me you only drink Texas Whiskey when you're watching home-made pornography."

Big Show's eyes widened as his brows knitted into a frown. "I did not!" He objected strongly. "You got me mistaken for some other fucked-up friend of yours."

"I don't have friends, Show. What the hell do I look like? Thomas the Train?"

"You have me, Taker." Show gave him the puppy-dog eyes.

Revolted, Taker brought his right hand across Show's face with a loud pop.

"Ow! Okay, okay. I was just trying to help."

Taker snatched the whiskey out of his hand and plopped down on the couch next to him. "What is this?" He asked, focusing his eyes on the television screen before him.

"A match that just happened. You gotta check it out." Show answered, turning up the volume with a remote control.

Taker frowned as Show played back the visual recording. He saw nothing but darkness at first and heard the voice of Jerry Lawler shouting, "Is this The Undertaker? If so, then Chyna and Road Dogg are about to find hell on earth!" But he knew he was nowhere near that ring earlier. He squinted, curiousity filling him. When the lights came back on, he instantly spotted someone standing behind Chyna. A woman whom he'd never seen before. He was a bit taken aback by her appearance. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was practically drowned in darkness. Never before had he seen someone with such an intriguing appearance.

"Well, she certainly rocked my entrance." Taker commented, lifting his brows.

"Isn't she amazing? When I saw this I almost jizzed in my–"

"Too much info, Show."Taker cut him off, his face wrinkling in disgust. But he soon forgot what had been said when he saw the arcane woman jump several feet off the floor and spinkick Chyna directly in the face. The kick was nearly invisible. _Damn, that was unexpected. _He sat forward and stroked his pointed beard, a deep, inhuman sound reverberating in his throat. The woman was certainly interesting. But who was she? Where did she come from and what was she doing on Raw? Questions filled the mind of the Deadman, most of them too sick and twisted to answer, others making his brows furrow. It was apparent she was a new wrestler; a damn good one at that. And apparently she had a dark-spirit. _There goes another walking corpse. _

"Who is she?" Taker asked, narrowing his eyes on the beautiful woman as she slid under the bottom rope and the feline-like motion made him growl.

"I don't know. She just came in out of nowhere." Show shrugged. "I know one thing, though. Chyna is about to kick her ass for what she did out there."

"We'll see about that." Taker muttered, standing to his feet.

"Where're you going?" Show asked, frowning at him.

Taker glanced over his shoulder at him, then headed out the room. "No one knows who this woman is, apparently. So, I'm going to be the first to find out."

...

The corridor was silent, empty. She sat against the wall with her legs crossed and her arms laying limp by her sides. Her eyes stared forward into what seemed like nothing. There was the wall and then there was sight beyond the wall. But she couldn't see the wall. In fact, in her eyes, she was no longer in the silent, white corridor.

_The voices sent pain searing through her head like daggers stabbing into her temples. She clutched her head as they echoed all around her, daunted and tormented her. She was curled into a ball behind a pulpit in a cathedral, listening to cries of fear, pain and anguish. They were frightening for such a small child. Especially what was causing them. She could hardly describe the hellish monsters tormenting the mindless worshippers in the sanctuary._ _They were ghostly, shadow-like beings with no faces, only bloodred eyes. Their shrieks were louder than the fearful cries of their victims, ear-piercing sounds like the cry of a banshee._ _Each and every one of them were flying all around the cathedral like ghosts, faster than any race car, tangible as air. Disappearing and reappearing into thin air, entering the helpless humans_' _mouthes and possessing them. They were finding broken glass, using them to cut their arms and throats, gouge out their eyes and stick them down their throats. Blood was all over the floor, rolling across the hard wood. _

_The small girl was in tears at the catastrophe. But then something happened._ _In the corner of her eye, she spotted a hulking, black mass. She hadn't even had the chance to fully take a look at it before it descended at the speed of light and she became engulfed in pitch-blackness. She screamed, but no sound could come out, only demonic wails. _

_Join me...in_ _Hell...Anya Mikhailvisch._

"Excuse me, Madam?"

Her eyes blinked once and her head turned slowly toward the male voice that had spoken. She was a bit aggravated by the disturbance that was Michael Cole. He looked a bit nervous as he and a cameraman approached her and she created chill bumps on their skin with her shadowy eyes.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions for the audience."

She stared at him, unmoving, remaining silent.

Michael swallowed and bent over so that he could put the microphone to her mouth when it was her turn to speak. "Well, first of all, we know that you're a new wrestler here on Raw. So tell us your name."

She flicked her dark eyes toward the camera, then back at Michael. Both men weren't too comfortable being around her. That much she could tell. But their fear was what she enjoyed the most. Realizing that she wasn't going to answer, Michael spotted a black tattoo on the side of her neck that read "Anya" in bold, papyrus letters. On either side of the tattoo were two dragon skulls, completed with horns and flaming eyes.

"Is your name Anya?" Michael asked.

For a moment, she only held his gaze. Then, she nodded once.

"Well, welcome to the business, Anya. I'm gonna ask you a few more questions and then I'll leave you alone. Now, just a few minutes ago, you made a brutal attack on the world's most dangerous woman, Chyna, costing her the world championship title. Why exactly did you do that to her? Is there some sort of history between you two?"

At that moment, Anya's hand lashed out at Michael's throat, latching on like a crab's pincers. She rose to her feet as she held him by the neck, looking deep into his wide, fearful eyes. She never liked when people meddled in her business, especially people she didn't know personally. Nosiness only got under her skin and put her in a blood-spilling mood. Tonight, Michael Cole was one of those meddlesome people she despised and tonight, he would be severely punished.

Her grip was so tight, Michael couldn't take in a single breath. Before he knew what had happened, he was pinned against the wall and she was standing awfully close to him, her eyes speaking enough of her thirst for his blood. He had never seen such silent fury in a woman; such bloodlust. It was horrifying. He was practically shitting his pants, unable to cry for help, unable to breath. Until finally, the cameraman swung the camera at her head. Unfortunately, she bent herself backwards and the camera accidentally struck Michael in the side of the head. Eyes shutting, he collapsed sideways and his movement completely ceased.

Anya snapped back into her normal posture and turned to face the cameraman. He was trembling now, fear written upon every inch of his face. All Anya had to do was take one step forward and the man was running like a deer after a gun had been fired. She spotted a large dark spot in the crotch of his jeans and although there was no smile or any sign of emotion on her face, she was chuckling inwardly. Fear humored her.

_Hell is waiting for them._

_..._

Chyna paced back and forth inside the ring, fire dancing wildly in her eyes. Her infuriation had not gone down from her previous assault and it was highly noticeable upon her features. Teeth clenched behind her lips, she cut her eyes toward the ramp and kept them there, watching intently. The crowd roared, most knowing what was to happen. She bent down and picked up a microphone from the ring floor, lifted it to her angry, black lips. "As you can see," She began, anger ringing in her tone. "I'm still pretty pissed off about that unnecessary attack that kept me from getting that title earlier tonight. Everyone in this building right now knows that I, the world's most dangerous woman, deserves that title more than anything in the world. And by all means, I am going to get it. With that being said, tonight I am going to get my revenge for what happened earlier. I want that fucking vampire bitch to come out here RIGHT NOW and face me in a match! A tables match!"

The cheering escalated in response and Chyna dropped the mic back on the floor, placing her hands on her hips as she looked ahead and waited. No one had ever seen her this furious. Not even her closest friend, Hunter Hearst Helmsley. She was practically on fire, ready to light a bitch up.

Five seconds later, the lights dimmed to inky blackness and music began to play. "Lies" by Evanescence. Chyna halted her pacing, freezing like an iron rod in the winter. An eerie feeling creeped into the arena and it was not the usual feeling one got when the lights went out in the ring. The ghostly voices echoing off the walls sent chills up her spine and the hairs on the back of her neck stood, yet she showed no fear of the dark. She was a warrior and warriors weren't afraid. "Come on, bitch! Come on out and play!" She shouted into the blackness.

The lights flickered back on at that moment, but there was no one in sight. Chyna wasn't falling for it this time. She spun violently and instantly spotted the woman crouched atop the turnbuckle like a preying vulture, ready to strike her prey. Her eyes were narrowed on Chyna and she never thought she would ever see a woman so close to the bride of Mephistopheles. Her heart pounded and she sucked in a deep breath as she looked deep into those icy eyes and those icy eyes looked deep into hers.

"You'll be punished for what you did to me, you bitch." Chyna yelled at her.

Anya dropped into the ring on her two feet, arms falling cooly by her sides. For a moment, she stood like a statue in that one spot she'd landed in, icy blue orbs peering out from within pits of darkness. Chyna may have been shouting bold statements to her, but she could easily smell the fear eminating from her very skin. That fear amused her as it had before. If she could play back the look on her victim's face when she first arrived, she would do it until the end of time. It was a most priceless expression made by the world's most dangerous woman. One that most definitely didn't come around often.

After a silent staredown, Anya took about three steps forward and was standing face-to-face with Chyna, just barely an inch shorter than the deadly dominatrix. There was hatred and evil written on that face and it was obvious that this night was not going to end without blood being shed. It was like looking into the face of death disguised by a most shocking beauty.

"Well?" Chyna growled at her. "Either you accept my challenge or face the fact that you're nothing but a coward for the rest of your miserable life." In response, Chyna heard an inhuman sound reverberate in her throat. And it was not words that Anya answered with. Instead, she drew her fist back and gave Chyna a hard right hand. She took the hit quite negatively, her head snapping sideways as she collapsed backwards like a tree. Anya didn't even bother to keep her down. Instead she slithered beneath the bottom rope like the serpent she was and exited up the ramp. Her answer had been made known. She wanted nothing more than to tear Chyna apart.

Limb by fucking limb.

...

_Ding ding ding, _rang the starting bell. Chyna had been waiting for this moment all night and it was finally here. Vengeance was about to be hers. She charged all the way across the ring toward Anya who stood in the corner, her arms rested by her sides as usual. When she came within a few feet of her, she jumped and attempted to slam all of her weight into her, but somehow, Anya managed to slip out of the way. She winced as she collided with the turnbuckles and Anya grabbed a handful of her hair, slamming her head down with crushing force.

While she collected herself, Anya left the ring and started searching beneath the apron for a table. Chyna was just waking up by the time she pulled the whole thing out. Spotting Anya with the table, she climbed onto the top rope and jumped, plummeting down on Anya like a meteor. Anya simply hissed as her body hit the floor and Chyna grabbed her in a headlock.

"You like that? You like that, bitch?" Chyna jeered through gritted teeth.

Anya reached backward and grabbed a handful of Chyna's hair, pulling as she pushed herself to her feet. Chyna hung on her back until she threw herself against the ringpost and she had no choice but to fall off. Anya quickly turned and thrusted her fists several times into Chyna's stomach. Her hits were so powerful they literally knocked the wind right out of her. This woman was no joke. It was obvious that tonight's match would be one hell of a challenge.

Chyna absorbed the pain and punched Anya in the jaw. Anya stumbled a bit which was all the world's most dangerous woman needed. She ran forward with a clothesline and knocked Anya onto her back. The awful thud could be heard through the entire building. Anya was one for taking enormous amounts of pain without reaction. So the fact that she rose right after such a hard hit scared the hell out of Chyna. "Who the hell are you?" Chyna frowned, clutching the back of her aching head.

Anya balled her hand into a fist and swung, catching Chyna square in the face. She flew back like a spring and her back thudded against the ring apron. Anya jumped several feet off the ground and knocked Chyna down with a spinkick. The second she hit the floor, she made for the long, wooden table which had been lying a few feet away from them. Gripping both sides of the table, she approached the fallen Chyna and staked her. Chyna jerked upward from the searing pain in her abdomen as the table came down on her with crushing force. The move was repeated over and over until Chyna managed to kick the table with both feet and send Anya stumbling backwards.

She crashed painfully into the Spanish announcer table and the table went clattering across the floor. Chyna bolted forward and slammed her weight into her; both women went through the table and three Spanish announcers scattered for their lives. Anya shoved Chyna off of her and rolled into a crouched position, watching as her opponent struggled to recover. Now she was furious. She'd never had a challenge like this; never a woman so troublesome. She was expecting a quick win with this woman, but was receiving something entirely different. Yet and still, she somewhat enjoyed when her prey gave a struggle.

As Chyna got to her feet, Anya measured her with her eyes, calculating just how much strength she would need to put into her next strike. It didn't look like she needed much, for Chyna was hardly able to keep herself balanced. Her eyes with narrowed, her expression appearing dazed. _Perfect._ Once she turned her body in Anya's direction, Anya leaped forward like a cobra and her shoulder hit Chyna so hard one could hear the breath leave her body. Time seemed to slow down as the two women sailed through the air. Mouthes fell agape, eyes widened in shock, and the announcers across from them were shouting out of their seats.

"WHAT A SPEAR!"

The sound of the impact was like a rifleshot. Chyna could have sworn her back snapped in half and the weight on top of her was only adding to the pain. A choked sound burst from her throat as her head thudded against the floor and Anya rolled sideways after bouncing once. For a moment, both women were in a daze, and of course Chyna had had it worse than Anya. She was limp as an inanimate object now and Anya propped herself up on her hands and knees, nearly out of breath but still energized by her lust for blood. Her icy blue eyes scanned her surroundings. Everything was red as blood and she knew she had been awakened. Pushing herself into a standing position, she made her way shakily toward the wooden table. There was no sign of confidence on her features, but on the inside she knew the victory was hers for the taking. Grabbing the end of the table, she dragged it to the side of the ring and pulled the legs out, propping it up only a few feet away. She then turned to Chyna. The woman was writhing in pain, her movements were slow and weak. Anya could tell she was just about through. She approached her from behind and grabbed her hair, using it to drag her toward the table. Chyna could hardly reach up to defend herself, she was that battered. Her head was still to rattled to put together a single rational thought.

With almost all her efforts, Anya hoisted Chyna onto the ring apron and climbed on after her. Her slitted, sinister eyes moved over the roaring crowd before she grabbed Chyna around the waist and lifted her onto her shoulder. She scaled the apron, approaching the spot where she would soon bring Chyna to her doom. This was the moment not many had been waiting for, but it didn't matter what the crowd wanted. There were some boos of course. Not that it was unexpected. Anya knew she wouldn't be appreciated for her deeds, but all of it was to please her own dark spirits. She wanted Chyna's blood on her hands and by all means, that was exactly what she would have tonight. Red continued to flash in her eyesight as she set Chyna up for a body slam. Anticipation filled her, as well as excitement. She gritted her teeth, knowing that this would require some effort. At last, this was what she wanted.

She lifted Chyna above her head like a ragdoll with a deep breath. It was like trying to lift a car off the concrete but somehow it appeared to have been done with ease. Everyone witnessing this knew that this was no ordinary woman wrestler. In fact, she had to be possessed or something. Lust for blood appeared on her face as she hissed loudly and threw Chyna with all her might.

And just before the helpless woman struck the table, the lights went out and an eerie chill fell over the arena. Anya looked around in confusion. Usually the lights dimmed whenever she exited or entered. So either the timing was awful or something else entirely was happening. Walking across the ring apron, she climbed onto the top turnbuckle and perched herself like a preying crow, eyeing the runway which now had a dark blue light focused on it. There was an odd prickling against her skin and she became aware of a new presence in the arena. She squinted a bit and at that moment she saw it.

A dark figure appeared on the stage and for a moment she was a bit alarmed. She climbed down from the top turnbuckle as the figure began making its way down the ramp. The essence this figure brought was so dark and mysterious it caused her bones to chill. But instead of becoming afraid she became interested. The figure approached the ring, climbed the steel steps and paused. Anya kept her eyes on it and suddenly the lights brightened again. The light caused her to squint for a second and when her eyes adjusted, she noticed that the figure was a male. After lowering his arms to his sides, he climbed over the ropes and into the ring.

Anya was taken aback by his appearance. He was nearly seven feet tall. Swollen with pure muscle. A curtain of wavy, jetblack hair framed a well-carven face that was accented by a pointed beard. Dressed in all black wrestling gear that squeezed his enormous form, this man looked even more arcane than Anya herself. Surprise overtook all other thoughts and emotions. She didn't dare blink as acid green met icy blue. There was evil in those eyes; evil that seemed to pull her into them like a magnetic force. She swallowed, rooted where she stood by a most daunting gaze. He was gorgeous. The most gorgeous demon she'd ever laid eyes on.

He approached her slowly, his heavy booted feet shaking the ring beneath his weight and she didn't dare move a muscle. Only kept her eyes on his, her focus only on whether or not she needed to prepare for an attack. Her basic instinct was telling her to attack this man and leave his body to rot, but for some reason her body refused to act on that instinct. The ominous presence of the man before her seemed to chain her, coil itself around her and draw her into his shadow. So attacking him seemed out of the question.

He had a microphone in his left hand which he raised to his lips and after staring Anya down for a few seconds more, he opened his mouth to speak, "Don't be afraid." His voice was like the deep rumble of an earthquake, wrapping itself around Anya's head and caressing her ear drums. Her body responded with a shiver to that enticing voice. "I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hand as a sign that he meant what he said, but Anya wouldn't let her gaurd down one bit.

All her life she'd encountered nothing but death traps, random people trying to attack and take her out of existence for unknown causes. Even as a small child, she'd been taught not to let her gaurd down no matter what the cost. No matter how convincing the claims, she was always on alert; always prepared for a fight. It applied especially to this particular setting. The man before her had evil and bloodlust written all over him, but she had to admit she was drawn by his disposition, style, and appearance. The way his darkness molded into beauty was like nothing she'd ever seen before. Not even when she looked into a mirror.

"You may be wondering who I am and why I'm here before you tonight." The man continued. "And I refuse to allow a newcomer to step into the business without making myself known. So to answer your questions which you have not spoken, I am the Undertaker, the deadliest entity ever to step foot into this ring. And I'm here specifically to make you an offer."


	3. Chapter 3

That booming voice seemed to bounce around in Anya's skull. She couldn't recall ever hearing anything so beautiful, but she wouldn't let it convince her that this man was trustworthy. She trusted no one. Never had, never would. She noticed the way the Undertaker's eyes trailed up and down her body and goose flesh rose up her arms. He was a bold one evidently. The first person she'd discovered who wasn't intimidated by her. In fact, she was a bit intimidated by him, but it was too hidden for anyone to be able to tell.

"While you were out here,"He looked over his shoulder at Chyna who's limp body lay between two halves of a snapped wooden table. "Obviously beating the hell out of the world's most dangerous woman...I had my eyes on you."

Anya's eyes narrowed at that. She didn't know exactly what to think of that statement but her thoughts were most definitely not positive.

"And as I watched you tear your opponent apart, I realized that you have something not many people here have. You have what I like to call...a killer instinct." He took a step toward her and she felt as if she'd gotten smaller. "There is darkness in your heart, woman. The darkness of a fallen angel and that darkness is what has convinced me to come out here to stand before you tonight. I can look at you right now and tell that you and I aren't very different from each other. In fact, our similarities led to this moment."

There was curiousity in Anya's eyes that brought hope to the Undertaker. Perhaps this wouldn't be too difficult. He took one more step forward and was now towering above Anya like a haunting shadow. Her beauty sent sensations throughout his body that he hadn't felt in years; urges that took almost all he had to control. His hands itched to reach out and touch her, at least run his fingers over her porcelain skin. Her body begged for his attention, those eyes pulling him in like black holes. The temptation was nearly too strong for him to resist, yet somehow he managed to hide it all. He kept his eyes locked on hers as best he could. That way she would not feel as though she was in a predicament to defend herself. However, he was aware that she would be on the defensive side anyway due to the fact that he was who he was. It was just an automatic reaction. "Now with that being said, Anya Mikhailvisch," He seemed to growl at her. "I'm going to present to you my offer."

Anya's expression changed from faceless to slightly alarmed at the sound of her name leaving the Undertaker's mouth. And with such a husk it chilled her. How did he know her name? No one knew her name. Nor was anyone supposed to. She'd wanted to be the nameless, but somehow this man knew and now the entire arena knew after that statement. A drag, but she did not respond. Only remained silent and still in the presence of the so-called deadliest entity ever to step foot into the business.

"Because of how you've impressed me tonight, Anya, I want you...to join me in my reign of dominance. My reign of destruction. My reign of darkness I want you...to become apart of my Unholy Alliance."

Anya continued to stare at him. Her lips never moved, neither did the rest of her body. Her expression had become thoughtful now. But even her thoughtfulness was hardly readable. It took the Undertaker a minute to even realize that she hadn't zoned out on him.

He waited; waited for an answer or some kind of reaction. Sure the woman had no idea who he was or why exactly he wanted her, but who had the nerve to reject the Undertaker? Should a woman dare herself to ever be so bold?

In Anya's mind, this could not be a good thing. There was no telling what he meant by 'Unholy Alliance' and she wasn't exactly willing to find out in the manner that was presented to her. Besides, a man like the Undertaker didn't appear to be someone she would put her trust in. She hadn't trusted anyone for several years, so why would she force herself to trust this demon out of hell? He was right about many things, including the fact that they were a lot alike. They were practically mirrored images of each other, with the exception of a few details. But that meant nothing. That only meant that she wasn't the only deadly one in the business. That just meant she had bigger competition than Chyna.

It took her a moment to think about it, but she eventually made up in her mind what her answer would be. Taking a step back, she looked the massive form of the Undertaker up and down, and to the Deadman's astonishment, she was shaking her head slowly at him.

His mind reeled. Anger began boiling inside him like a volcano. _Impossible, _he thought, lowering his microphone. She was rejecting his offer. It was such a simple, yet startling response that even the crowd was gasping in utter shock.

Anya backed away until she was standing against the ropes. Then, eyes trailing up and down the Undertaker once again, she bent herself backwards over the top rope and landed on the concrete feetfirst. Undertaker watched her in silence, his teeth clenching together behind his straightened lips. He felt humiliated, baffled. How could anyone reject him like this? Especially in front of thousands of people! Who wouldn't want to make an alliance with the Lord of Darkness?

Anya turned away and strutted off, the swerve of her hips attracting an awful lot of attention. She certainly was a seductive dark angel; forbidden candy to a man's eye. The Undertaker released a deep sigh through his nostrils and placed his hands on his hips. This wasn't exactly expected, but he knew he had to be prepared for anything prior to this meeting. So the fact that he'd been rejected didn't send him into a raging coniption. No, he would keep his composure as he usually did.

When Anya reached the very top of the ramp, she turned her upper body so that she could once again look him at. Their eyes locked from afar and right then, the Undertaker realized what was on her mind. He stared narrowly at her, measuring her, searching that face. And for a split second, he could have sworn he saw a tiny smirk lift the corner of her plush lips. That said it all; she was playing hard to get.

_So, that's how she wants it. A little game of cat and mouse. Well, she's in for one hell of a chase. Because when I want something, I don't stop until I get it._

_..._

The atmosphere didn't feel the same after that encounter. Instead of walking the hallways with her usual shadowy disposition, Anya walked the hallways with caution. Her eyes constantly flickered left and right; usually they kept straight in order to intimidate the others in the hallway. Even the people working backstage who'd seen her before knew something was different about her. She found her locker room after a minute or so, rushed inside and slammed the door shut. Her eyes scanned her surroundings before she slumped against the wall and released a deep air felt thick all around her. Haunted. Unsafe. The hairs on the back of her neck were on end. But it was not just discomfort, it was attraction.

_The Undertaker..._

His name still echoed in her mind no matter how hard she tried to clear it. His daunting, yet stunning image as well. She could tell by the look on his face that he didn't take rejection well. Perhaps it was best to watch her back in case there was vengeance involved.

Peeling herself off of the door, she floated soundlessly across the room. A set of red lockers lined the back wall where she kept her possessions. Opening the middle locker, she reached her right hand inside and found a large, silver key hanging from a thin, black cord on a hook. With gentle precaution, she took the key off the hook and pulled it close, holding it before her two eyes. There was a glare on the shining material that caught her eye for a second. She studied the object, twirling it in her hands as she thought of what it was for.

Surprisingly, that was something she didn't know. The key was discovered when she was a small child right after she ran away from home. There was a peculiar man in Derbent who claimed to be a magician. Anya didn't know why he was there so she made sure she wasn't seen. The man was completely insane. She remembered how he rocked back and forth clutching the black key in his hand, chanting in a language she couldn't understand, something far from her native Russian tongue. He seemed oblivious to the raging storm that caste vicious waves onto the rocky shores. And he enjoyed the cliffs, for some reason. He would stand on the very edge and simply stare down the drop for several hours with the key held out in his palm in front of him. She couldn't tell whether or not it was some sort of ritual, but she did learn that there was some kind of power within that key. Magic.

After a week, the magician laid the key down on a jagged rock and walked right off the cliff edge. His tragic death made no sound as Anya watched from behind a much larger rock in the distance. It was then that she swiped the peculiar black key and left Derbent.

Narrowing her eyes on the key, she made an about face and sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor. Thank goodness it wasn't cement like the room next door. She hated cement. It was always cold. Then again, Anya was a very cold woman. Questions filled her mind as she twirled the key around between two fingers, studying the foreign markings along each side. _Why was the magician praying to this object? What power could it possibly hold?_

The room was completely silent until a familiar sound registered against her highly sensitive ear drums. Bells tolling, guitars blaring, voices of children laughing in ghostly pitches...it was so far away, yet so near. Anya's eyes lifted toward the door where the music seemed to creep through the bottom gap. She'd heard the warning tune only once, but somehow she knew it all too well. _The Undertaker..._She blinked once, now picking up a base voice speaking in a demonic tongue. It had to be coming from the arena. Was he just now leaving?

An idea suddenly dawned on her the longer she listened to the familiar, dark theme. She rose to her feet and slid the key around her neck, then made for the door. Just before she opened it, she glanced down at her feet, her mind becoming busy with thought. The Undertaker was certainly an intriguing man, and after years of living in a dead world, not many things appealed to her like he did. His ominous presence alone chilled her, drew her in like a black hole. She wanted to know more about him, but after rejecting him like that, she wasn't sure if it would be that easy.

Returning her eyes forward, she opened the door and slowly crept out into the hallway. The atmosphere was the same; dark, eerie, threatening. _There is no one out here,_ she thought silently as her light feet began to move over the dark blue, tiled floor. Yet it felt as if there was something lurking in the shadows. She forced herself to get the benefit of the doubt instead of become paranoid. Paranoia was against her, but being alert was only a level beneath it. Looking once over her shoulder, she moved swiftly down the hallway. The further she went, the dimmer the ceiling lights grew until her eyes were wide. Now she was forced to allow the darkness to guide her. She simply closed her eyes and pointed one hand forward, forming her fingers as if holding a softball in her hand. The shadows seemed to whisper to her and she listened intently.

_Death is your destination, and your destination is a few paces forward._

And surely enough, a few paces later, she stopped before a door near the end of the hallway. She opened her eyes and saw a black sign that had the name **UNDERTAKER** printed on it, nailed to the top of the door. She was here. Touching her fingers to the door gently, she could feel that the room was empty. That was good. She tried the knob and surprisingly it was unlocked. The door released an eerie creak as she crept cautiously inside, looking about to make sure she was alone. The room was rather bright, causing her to squint until her eyes had adjusted. It looked like a normal locker room, but the feeling of misplacement quickly crept over her. She felt a sense of endangerment, but ignored it forcefully.

In back of the room was a set of black lockers. Most were hanging wide open, revealing stray clothing, tennis shoes, gatorade bottles, and other gym items. She approached each locker with caution, expecting a trap to go off as she rummaged through them. The least she could do was return everything to how it looked before she showed up once she was finished. Surprisingly nothing intriguing was found and pretty soon, Anya paused her searching.

Frowning in thought, she took a step back from the lockers and scanned them with her icy blue eyes, anger creeping under her skin from her search for nothing. She thought she'd failed completely until a glare caught her attention from the corner of her eye. Distracted, her head whipped toward the glare and it was then that she spotted what she figured she had come for. It was a golden object -half-way buried beneath a black sheet- laying atop of card table across the room. Anya was there in a second, hovering over the object with curiousity and wonder. The object appeared to have a lid on it, smooth and glistening in the ceiling light. Slowly and carefully crept her delicate hand toward the object after she looked over her shoulder. Oddly, the closer her hand got to touching the object, the more she felt as if a pair of eyes were watching her from some hidden place. But despite the warning feeling in her gut, she grabbed the golden object and pulled it from under the sheet.

An urn.

_Strange, _she thought with a frown. She'd never known anyone to keep an urn with them, but apparently the Undertaker was more morbid than she thought. _Strange, yet interesting. Why does he have this with him? Could it be a precious treasure of his?_

Just then, Anya heard a rustling sound from behind and almost instantly whipped around to face the door. Her heart was suddenly racing, and her eyes gleamed with alert, but to her relief, there was no one in the room except for herself. She frowned. Although she could see no one, she was aware of a new presence in the room. The atmosphere had grown suddenly...dreary. Eyes darting about, Anya backed herself against the nearest wall, readying herself for anything, yet seeing that there was physically nothing to get ready for. Something just wasn't right. She could feel it like tiny needles prickling against her skin, warning her that something was coming. Something...deadly.

She knew that this was her cue to leave, but she refused to move until she knew it was safe to. So far, her eyes had convinced her that she could cross the room without being attacked from nowhere, but her senses were telling her otherwise. Finally after a moment, she took a deep breath and started toward the door with the urn tucked under her right arm, hoping for a clean dash back to her previous location. She actually grew some confidence that it was all in her head. But suddenly, the unexpected happened.

The very second she stepped under the threshold, something large appeared before her from absolutely nowhere and before she could even think to react, she felt a large hand roughly grab her throat, squeezing with the strength of a venomous constrictor. The urn went clattering to the floor as she reached up to grip the large wrist connected to the hand, discovering that it was leather coiled around her flesh.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The sound of the urn clattering across the hallway floor bounced around inside his large head as he held the small figure against the wall. The relatively small neck caused his leather fingers to twitch in curiosity as he observed just who it was that was now in his possession. When he looked down, he was a bit surprised to find a pair of icy blue eyes staring up at him through strands of raven black hair. They were full of both fear and anger, emotions that fueled the animosity pumping through his veins. But there was another factor he discovered that caused his head to tilt sideways.

_It's a woman, _he had to tell himself in order to loosen his grip on the figure's throat. And a beautiful one at that – with flawless, ivory skin and plush, red lips, and cheeks that blossomed like roses. The way she gripped onto his arm and was fighting to wrench him away let him know that she was a strong woman. He'd never seen her before, but he was impressed with her looks. Nevertheless, he wanted to know just what in the hell she was doing with his brother's urn.

Straightening his neck, the Big Red Machine, Kane, decided not to hurt the little one. When he released her neck, he heard a thud from her feet hitting the floor and watched as she crumpled to her knees, panting and coughing as if she had been closer to death than either of them realized. As she grabbed at her throat, red from his deathly grip, Kane stood still and more closely observed her, one milky blue and one deep green eye wandering up and down her body. She had a look about her that was rather...dark and a bit gothic. He could see that she had a thing for chokers and tattooes, which made her even more intriguing to him. He noticed the tattoo sitting boldly on the side of her neck. _Anya...that must be her name._

The second the thought crossed his mind, she shot him a look that nearly burned a hole through his face. A look so full of venom it was frightening. She scooted herself back away from Kane, cursing him with her gaze, then glanced down the hall at the urn that he'd knocked from her grasp. But instead of going after it, she focused her attention back on Kane. Now, she looked confused,wondering why he had released her.

He continued to watch her as she slowly rose to her feet, keeping her gaze on him, her back against the wall. He was surprised she hadn't run yet. He always managed to frighten women just from standing still, but for some reason, she was just standing there looking at him as if he'd suddenly turned to gold. He could see her lunging to attack him at any moment now, but after a moment or two, she didn't even do that. Instead, she tilted her head sideways and Kane did the same at the exact same time, both squinting their eyes at each other.

He could see her expression change from anger and fear to hidden interest and wonder like a pot of gold soaked in blood had fallen from the sky and landed right in front of her. In exchange, the urge he felt when he first saw her, the urge to choke her until her neck snapped, slowly faded from him. He began walking toward her, very slowly as not to frighten her. On the first two steps, she stayed where she was, her gaze never breaking from his. He wanted to test her and see just how far he could go before she freaked out and ran. Even if he had to get physical with her again.

Within seconds, he was towering over her again. Her eyes widened very slightly and Kane could hear the back of her head hit the wall gently. It was the smallest sign of fear, but enough to make him grin behind his mask.

"Kane!" A sudden shout broke the silence in the hallway, causing both Kane and Anya to jump with a start. "Kane what are you doing?"

Kane instantly recognized the masculine voice, the controlling tone and even the pace of the footsteps coming toward him as he turned his head. It was his so-called "bestfriend" Sean Waltman who didn't look too happy to see him with a girl. "Come on, Kane! We gotta hit the gym tonight! No sleep until we're soaked in sweat."

Rolling his eyes, Kane turned his head back around to face Anya...only to find that she was no longer before him. Alarm coming to him for some reason, his head snapped sideways to look down the hall. She was nowhere to be found and neither was Taker's urn. _Shit. He's gonna be pissed. _He thought, also wondering why he couldn't have just grabbed it for himself.

"What the hell are you doing down here?" Sean asked, following his gaze down the hall as if hoping to see what had Kane's attention so much. "What're you looking at, Kane? I don't see anything."

For a moment, Kane simply stood there, continuing to stare down the hall. Then tore his gaze away as if disappointed, shaking his head to let his companion know that it was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Maybe the girl was just another hallucination of his, another mental illusion. He had those a lot. Which was probably what made him so dangerous in the World Wrestling Federation.

"Alright." Sean said with hidden concern in his voice. "Well, let's get goin'. We have a lot to get done before morning." He turned to leave, heading back up the hall where he'd come.

Kane looked down the hall once more before following his partner, the image of that peculiar woman still haunting his mind. For some reason, she had intrigued him so much that he was determined to meet her again. Just once more so he could once again look into that dark soul of hers.

…...

"I can't believe she fucking rejected me." The Undertaker growled as he stood against the wall in the shower room, his massive arms crossed over his bare chest. A few feet away, The Big Show ripped the curtain back from his shower to give his mentor a look of pure astonishment.

"She what!" He exclaimed, his eyes growing wide.

Taker fired him a venomous glare. "Were you not watching? I thought you were in my room with the TV." His tone was murderous.

"Oh...well...I mean, I got up to go get something..." Show answered guiltily, worried that his mentor would attack him at any given moment.

"You fucking-" Take r started to say, but then closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. He wasn't into beating men while they were naked. It just wasn't comfortable. "I told her she had a darkness about her that intrigued me. And that she had a killer instinct that deserved to be unleashed to the fullest."

Show blinked, still trying to register the fact that the little newbie had rejected the Phenom. THE FUCKING PHENOM! "It's just because she's knew." He said to help calm Taker down. The Deadman wasn't showing much emotion at the moment, but anyone who knew him well would've been able to tell that he was livid. Everyone who witnessed the rejection was surprised that The Undertaker hadn't grabbed the wench by her neck and choke-slammed her straight through the damned ring. But something about her just wouldn't let him.

"If it was anyone else, whether or not they wanted to, they would've given you the answer you wanted." Show continued, closing the shower curtain so he could continue lathering himself in Old Spice bodywash. "But give it some time. Maybe she just needs to warm up to you."

"I don't need her to fucking warm up to me!" The Undertaker yelled suddenly, feeling the blood rush to his face. "I need her to help me get rid of Vince fucking McMahon and take over this shithole called the World Wrestling Federation! I'd simply use her to get what I want and then I'd kick her to the curb where she belongs!"

Show cringed at the fury in Taker's voice, swallowing dryly. Taker could be so heartless at times. Nowadays more than ever to even begin to speak of a woman that way. Where was the respect? "Do you think taking a different approach would help?"

"I don't conform for anybody, Show. I don't need to make a different approach. Either she does the smart thing and joins the Alliance or suffer the consequences."

The way he dragged out the last word in an animal-like growl made Show's spine quiver. "Well, let me talk her into it." Show suggested. "I _can _be convincing when I put forth the effort."

Taker narrowed his eyes at the shower curtain which Show stood behind, recalling earlier how he was practically drooling all over his television over the woman while she was fighting with Chyna. He could hear the devious intent in Show's voice when he made the statement and didn't like it. It was all too obvious that he would try to romance her into the alliance and that just wasn't what Taker was about. Besides, because of his possessive attitude, in his mind, that woman was his to take. "No." He said quietly, then stood up straight, dropping one hand to his hip and raising the other to his chin, glancing down at the floor in deep thought. "I have a better idea. What am I best at, Show?"

"Hmm, let's see." Show reached for the shower faucet and shut off the water. "Scaring the living hell out of people?"

"Besides that." Taker smirked, taking the first answer as a compliment.

"Hell in a Cell matches?"

"No, dumbass." He looked up just as Show wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower. "Mind games."

The Big Show froze with a look of apprehension. He'd known Taker long enough to know that if there was one thing that could scar a human being for life, it was The Deadman's mind games. "Mind games?" He repeated a bit quietly, after swallowing to wet his throat.

"Yes...mind games. She'll never see them coming."

"And just what exactly do you plan to do?

At that question, a shadow of mischief darkened the Undertaker's eyes and a devilish grin slowly formed across his features, causing Show to look on as if the Devil himself with horns and a tail now stood before him. Taker didn't even have to answer in words for Show to know that whatever he had planned would be the keys to the gates of Hell. "I plan on consulting the spirits of the dark side, since you asked." He answered in a deep, dark tone, remembering that he had left his urn in his locker room. "I'll be back."

He left the community shower, chuckling to himself as he made his way through the hall. Just about everyone had left already, leaving him and the Big Show practically by themselves in the building. The only people left besides them were probably the clean-up crew.

The lights flickered above as the Lord of Darkness passed beneath them, not diverting his attention from the walkway ahead, however. He was basically used to the environment reacting to his phenomenal, dark essence. And speaking of reactions, he was still a bit thrown by the night's events. Offering a reigning hand to that Anya Mikhailvisch, only to have her slap the hand away in rejection. It was simply unacceptable! As he thought back to what'd happened, even reminiscing on how beautiful and shapely she was, he felt his blood boil, but not for long. He knew exactly what he was going to do about the situation.

Arriving at his locker room, he pushed open the door to reveal pitch blackness. The room carried a lemon scent, much different than the smell it had earlier, which meant that the janitors had been by. Taker inhaled his favorite clean scent as he walked in, powering on the lights without having to reach for the switch. But then he froze in his tracks, the relief he felt from walking into a clean room had suddenly vanished from him and now he was staring straight ahead with expressionless eyes. Expressionless eyes that soon narrowed into dangerous slits as his perfect eyebrows wormed into a deep frown. A small vein bulged along his temple now as anger suddenly ignited inside him, causing his teeth to clench behind his lips.

_No. It can't be._ He thought to himself. The card table where he had placed his urn was completely cleared. The urn was gone!

Bolting forward like a vicious animal lunging at its prey, he stormed straight toward the table and with one hand, sent it flying across the room. The loud crash it made as it struck the wall several feet away seemed to anger him more as he looked around with wide, infuriated eyes. It hadn't fallen under the table. It was spotted nowhere near the table. He swore in his mind, whirled around, and speedily headed for the couch on the other side of the room, snatching cushions and tossing them to the floor, then flipping over the entire couch. The urn was still nowhere to be found.

While he was practically ruining the work of the janitors, throwing whatever he possibly could across the room and shredding whatever his hands could grip, The Big Show walked in, rubbing his towel over the back of his neck where a few drops of water dripped down from his long, brown hair. "Hey, Taker." He called. "I'm gonna go start up the hearse if you're ready to-"

"It's gone!" Taker shouted suddenly, cutting Show off as he spun to face the man, his hair lashing about like furious waves.

"What? What're you-"

"The urn! It's gone!" He repeated, hissing loudly between his teeth as his chest bounded up and down with heavy breaths.

"Oh shit." Show's eyes went wide momentarily. Seeing Taker this livid scared the hell out of him. "Okay, okay. Let's just calm down and think things through here. Maybe it's not really gone. You probably just misplaced it." He spoke calmly, hoping that his tone would somehow calm the Deadman, as well. Did it work? Not at all.

"Why would I misplace...MY. FUCKING. URN!" Taker bellowed, his eyes flashing dangerously, causing Show to swallow past the lump in his throat. "I left it right on that table and its been there all night!"

"Are you sure? We went straight from the ring to the showers and you didn't come in to check on it, did you?" Show asked.

At that, Taker's face suddenly melted from its expression of fury. He looked around the room once more, inhaled slowly through his nostrils. Pondered. Then looked back up at the Big Show. "Do you smell that?" He asked.

Show frowned. "Well now that you ask, it _does _smell like somebody set something on fire in h-" He stopped himself just as the thought dawned on him. Looking Taker in the eyes, it seemed that both of them had shared the exact same thought in the exact same moment. There was only one person they knew of who could leave that lingering scent of used coal behind and that person had to be guilty of this crime.

Kane.


End file.
